


memories buried in sand

by caedi



Series: seven points of light [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caedi/pseuds/caedi
Summary: At all times Five experiences the world through seven viewpoints. His siblings hand in hand with him, in his mind. He doesn't know anything different.Or at least, he didn't.Five didn't think about his siblings before he travelled through time. After he lands in the apocalypse, he thinks of nothing else.
Relationships: The Hargreeves Family
Series: seven points of light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200248
Comments: 24
Kudos: 51





	memories buried in sand

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is - all I know is we need more soulmate fics in this fandom. Hopefully I'm not alone in that thought!
> 
> Please note: this is a platonic soulmate fic and there will be no incest.
> 
> This is the first of three 'prequel' fics in the series, before we get into rewriting s1 and seeing if these disaster siblings can save the world when they can literally read each others mind!!
> 
> The title for this fic is from Wasteland by Woodkid. You can listen to the series playlist [here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjxsF2rq7bfsmHLZ6E104oUiV5ZoWlDtK).
> 
> tw for canonical character deaths & description of bodies, grief/mourning, panic attacks, disassociation

  
  


  
  


Five tightens his tie against his neck, watching from the balcony as Mom lowers the turntable needle. The record scratches slightly before the familiar voice of explorer Lüdwig Von Carlson fills the room.

The record is one of Dad's favourites, but Five has no idea why they're listening to it tonight. Perhaps their next mission is going to be in the Alps? The dülfersitz rappel was one of the first abseiling techniques they were taught as children, but they've never used it outside of training exercises.

It would be just like Dad to put the record on and expect them to understand it as a hint of what they need to practice instead of speaking plainly.

No wonder they're a constant disappointment to him.

And, Five is distracted again.

Dad has been avoiding him for weeks—leaving for an 'urgent' business meeting in Dubai in the middle of personal training, and dismissing Five's concerns out of hand. Five has a small window of opportunity to prove himself at dinner tonight, before Dad leaves for his business trip to LA tomorrow.

He has to be perfect.

His siblings don't understand. None of them are being held back because of Father's obstinance.

Luther wants to prove himself more than any of them, but his powers simply require brute strength training and he spends his allocated training hours in a top of the line gym made especially for his needs. Dad had gifted Diego beautiful briefcase full of sharpened knifes years ago to help him hone his powers, and Allison gets to study as many languages as she wants.

Ben and Klaus, well. They don't count. Klaus actively avoids his powers, and Ben's fear of his is so constant it's part of their mental tag for him—kind, scared, clever—picked when they were so young they were only communicating through the bond. 

Even they're making progress though. Klaus had summoned the previous owner of their house this afternoon and just last week Pogo had commended Ben for directing the Horror during his personal training—though in all fairness he hadn't been able to replicate it and the rest of them were starting to think it was a fluke.

Finally, Mom walks into view under the balustrade, rings the bell, and it's time. He runs down the stairs to stand at his allocated place at the table, siblings trailing in after him and then Dad is striding into the room with purpose, his formal jacket almost swishing behind him.

For a few seconds Dad lets his unimpressed gaze linger on them before — "Sit!" he barks, and like obedient dogs they fall immediately to their seats and pick up their cutlery.

Five takes a deep breath, not touching his food. Everything relies on the next few minutes.

Time travel could be useful. He'd be able to get intelligence on missions—it's meant to be Four's job but it's always a roll of the dice whether the ghosts on hand will be useful or not. And, well, missions are dangerous and the bad guys they go up against tend to have guns and have no problem shooting at kids in school uniforms.

More than anything, Five needs to keep his siblings safe.

Next to him, Diego gives him a mental nudge as if to say _You alright, dude?_ but Five ignores him and all the surface emotions he can feel from his siblings.

He needs to get _better_.

Five places his cutlery back on the table and stands up slowly, chair squeaking against the floor. His siblings startle through their bond, suddenly focusing on him.

Father doesn't even look up at him, though he can feel Klaus' questioning _???_ directed at him alongside the alarm.

"I have a request," Five says.

"You know the rules, Number Five. No talking during mealtimes."

"It won't take long," Five insists, and finally Dad looks up from his plate.

"You are interrupting Herr Carlson."

Allison's amusement flitters between them, though she only makes eye contact with Luther. Five agrees though and has to hold back a smile. They could all recite Herr Carlson back to front by now.

"I want to time travel," Five starts, but he barely finishes his sentence before the great Reginald Hargreeves dismisses him with a shake of his head, focusing on his plate again.

Frustration wells inside of him, though he can feel Luther pushing _calm_ through to him with all his focus. The others just feel worried. "I'm ready. I've been reading the theory and practicing my spatial jumps."

That had been the condition, two weeks ago before Dad left for Dubai. Five clenches his fists and demonstrates, appearing at the head of the table next to Luther. He quirks him a small smile of appreciation as if to say _I've got this_ before focusing back on Dad who is looking decidedly unimpressed with the accuracy of his jump.

Perhaps jumping next to Luther was a mistake. He can always find his siblings through those pockets of space - the trouble sometimes is _not_ popping out next to them.

Dad goes into a lecture he could recite right alongside Herr Carlson. There are unknowns with time travel. A spatial jump is akin to sliding along the ice. Time travel is like descending into water and reappearing as something else. Last time it was a strawberry. This time it's an acorn.

Five tries not to roll his eyes, but isn't quite successful. "I don't get it."

"Hence the reason you're not ready!"

Goddammit. Of course Father uses that as a way to win the argument.

Five is thirteen years old and should know better by now: never tell the great Sir Reginald Hargreeves that you don't understand something.

Five opens his mouth to respond, to tell him it's not the _concept_ that he doesn't get—it's the reasoning—but Vanya shakes her head at him and he can feel that she’s worried. There’s vague irritation from Ben as well, despite the other boy keeping his head firmly in the pages of his book and not engaging.

Ben doesn't get a say. They _know_ how scared he is. He's never explored his powers the way Five has.

"I'm not afraid," Five says, pushing back irritation at both Vanya and Ben, and honestly he's irritated with himself as well. He let himself get distracted by their emotions, and he's pretty sure he wanted to say something different but—

"Fear isn't the issue!" Father says, and Five _knows_ that. He's heard it before. "I forbid you to talk about it anymore!"

Five wants to scream in frustration. All that preparation to be dismissed within two seconds of bringing the topic up. It's not fair!

Dad is wrong. He's ready.

"You're wrong," he insists, more determined than ever, and Dad meets his eyes, expression cold and unimpressed. 

A jolt of fear runs through him—too quick to determine which sibling it comes from—and Five stamps it down. He sends a wave of anger to his siblings through the bond because they were _useless_ before running out into the entrance hallway, twisting the front door handle and jumping down the front steps.

As the door slams behind him Dad calls out—"Number Five!"—but he ignores it. 

If Dad won't listen, Five will just have to show him.

Five jumps off the final step and clenches his hands together, reaching for his power just a little deeper, in the way the he instinctively knows is different to his spatial jumps—and he jumps.

He _jumps_.

Five laughs out loud, glancing behind him.

He did it and it was _easy_. The day has turned warm, sun in a completely different position in the sky, and the display in the shop front next door has changed. He can feel his siblings in the back of his mind but pays them no attention - their emotions are like a background noise, completely overpowered by his glee and his success.

Five steps forward and just like that he jumps again.

This time he thinks it's a few months—people are wearing sweaters and it's a bit cold—but he wants more. What’s a few months to their father? What does he have to show for his trip at this stage?

He needs to prove himself.

More than anything, Five needs to protect his siblings.

This time as he runs forward he reaches down into the power inside him, deeper than he's ever reached before, and pushes through the fabric of reality and out the other side years into the future and—

  
  


The world spins and he stumbles on nothing.

  
  


Emptiness.

  
  


Pain.

  
  


Five's palms are bleeding—caught on sharp debris on the ground—when did he fall to the ground?

His head spins and all he can hear is a sound like a wounded animal crying out and _keening_ in pain and it takes a second for him to realise —

It's him. 

He's making that noise.

Something — something's wrong.

Five reaches for comfort—for those tendrils of emotions that have always surrounded him—and he makes the sound again high in his throat.

There's nothing.

There's nothing.

 _Vanya? Ben?_ he tries to reach for them but — _Klaus? Diego?_

There's nothing.

The world is blank and _wrong_ in a way he's never felt before.

_Allison! Luther!_

He can't breathe.

Right before he passes out he realises.

They're gone.

He’s alone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He dreams.

He dreams.

He dreams that he's sitting at the dining table at the Academy. His siblings are there, like they always are, but there's something wrong. 

They're mirages. 

Empty paper cut outs of his real siblings.

He's not meant to talk at dinner but —

"You're not real," he tells the strangers wearing his siblings faces. "This isn't real."

"Number Five!" Dad says. Five ignores him. Whatever he is saying pales in comparison to being surrounded by nothing while staring at his siblings.

"Where are you?" Vanya says, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Her hand is right there, pressing against his academy blazer but he can't _feel_ her.

What does she mean when she says that? How is he meant to know what she's saying? 

Opposite from him, not-Ben is looking up from his book at him, and not-Klaus has stopped fiddling with whatever he was hiding under the table. The scratch of not-Diego's knife is absent. 

"I'm right here," Five says, helpless. "Where are you?"

There's no answer. There's no comfort.

He's alone.

"Where are you?" He repeats, nonsensically.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Five wakes as if his body would rather not wake at all, coughing on ash caught in his throat. 

Awareness returns in bits and pieces.

Slowly, he sits up and looks around.There's no sign of the bustling shop fronts he'd been running past before jumping through time—with bright patterned dresses for sale and newly bound books. Their familiar busy street has been completely destroyed, reduced to smouldering mounds of broken brick and jagged pieces of concrete. The air is thick with dust and he starts coughing again every time he thinks he's caught his breath.

It doesn't seem real.

Five time travelled.

He _did it_.

But he—he miscalculated. 

The world is empty. 

Five grabs the jagged concrete next to him, and finally pushes himself up off the ground. He wipes his eyes and his fingers come back muddy with wet ash, like he's been crying.

He hadn't thought—it hadn't crossed his _mind_ that he could end up without them.

 _Where are you?_ Five screams, grasping at nothingness.

The world around him is dust and debris and he travelled too far and he can tell that something's wrong here but the dust and broken world is nothing to him in comparison to his sibling ripped out of his mind. He—he can't be here.

Whatever happened here doesn't matter. He can't be here.

Five shakes his hands out and reaches desperately for his power, clenching his hands so tightly that the barley healed scabs on his palms tear open, dripping blood onto the dirt. _I don't want this!_ he screams, as blue light covers his fists and reaches up to his elbows.

Nothing happens.

Nothing.

His power flickers off like a burnt out light bulb. Whatever strength let him travel forward in time sits completely out of reach.

"Fuck!" Five screams into the dirt, before something else occurs to him.

How long had he been passed out for?

Five can't even finish the thought because—because if his soulbond is broken—if _all_ of his soulbonds are broken—

No.

His siblings—those six other minds living alongside him—minds that he knows better than his own.

He was just in shock. He wasn't unconscious.

Five opens his eyes again and takes in the destroyed buildings around him. He didn't run very far. He must only be a few blocks from the Academy.

First things first, then.

Five knows, logically, that most other families aren't comprised of seven soulmates who can feel each other's emotions at all times. The newspapers have been running articles for _weeks_ , ever since they made their superhero debut, as if their soulbond is stranger than their superpowers. As if they're at risk because they're bonded, instead of because their Dad sends them to fight against criminals with guns.

All the papers care about is selling a story. Romantic soulmates might be more common but plenty of siblings have soulbonds and those bonds always spark in childhood. Five checked. 

But now Five thinks back to all those irritating articles and news reports and clutches to that fact with irrational hope—most families aren't made of soulbonds. The mirages of his siblings from his dream are better than nothing—than the oppressive emptiness that surrounds him now. 

Five stands up, ignoring the reopened wounds on his hands, and stumbles back the way he came.

It's hard to see through the dust and debris in the air but he can see the remains of the footpath under a fallen building and he walks. He passes the empty shell of a clothes store _I'm right here_ he yells to the empty spaces at the back of his mind— but he was never great at communicating through their bond.

How would Klaus communicate it? 

Five tries to grab at the tendrils of his siblings and falters—nothing there's nothing there's nothing—breath coming faster but he holds onto the bleeding wound in his mind where his siblings used to sit and _I'm_ (his own mental tag, assurance love ambition) _right here_ (terror confusion alone).

There's nothing. There's nowhere to send the message.

His world is _empty_ in a way he didn't know it could be.

Five keeps stumbling forward over sharp rocks, coughing on dust, until he finally recognises the remains of the empty shop fronts that make up the Academy and it's all smouldering. As he walks he can't help but reach for his siblings in his wounded mind. If he could just _feel_ them—just for a second just in the way he has his for entire life—he knows he could find them. 

They can always find each other. 

He's vaguely aware that he's hyperventilating again by the time he reaches the steps leading up to the smouldering broken glass that's left of the Academy entrance.

There's nothing. 

Maybe there's some kind of psionic block. He read once that people don't always get on with their soulmates. If that happens they can take medication to block their bond. Maybe—maybe—they took it.

All six of them?

Maybe.

"Vanya?" Five screams into smoke, breaking down into coughs at the dust choking him before he tries to continue. "Ben? Luther! Anyone!"

There's no response.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Five remembers that their soulbond had frustrated him when he was little. 

He tries to explain their bond to the strangers—Dad, the nannies, the maid and then eventually Mom—but they could never understand.

The world is a starburst of emotion with seven distinct points of light. At all times Five experiences the world through seven viewpoints. His siblings hand in hand with him, in his mind.

No one but his siblings had felt _real_. Every other person in the world were plastic dolls with painted on smiles or frowns—no feelings or emotions—just fake platitudes.

One morning Five had lined up in front of the staircase with his siblings in numerical order, holding Four's hand as he snivelled next to him. He tries to catch One's eye—Dad talks to him the most and so he might know why they were here—but One is starting straight ahead, trying desperately to pretend he's not worried as well.

"Where's Nana Ruth?" Four mumbles, his sadness projected to all his siblings. On Five's other side Six starts sniffing too and Five stares at the front door in the distance and focuses on not feeling anything. It takes all his willpower to pretend he isn't affected, keeping his mouth a straight line. Dad will be mad with them again if they're all crying when he comes out to meet them. They're meant to have grown out of that.

Dad doesn't understand though; he doesn't have a soulbond. Five isn't stupid. He _knows_ it's Four's emotions—it's not like it's difficult he can feel all of his siblings in his mind every minute of the day!—but he's still sad because of it. He doesn't like it when Four is sad.

Five is sad himself too. His nanny hadn't woken him up this morning either, but she's mean so Five doesn't really care if he never sees her again. He likes Four's nanny though. She has a soulbond too—her husband (which is _so weird_ can you imagine being married to your sibling?!)—but she's shown them some fun tricks to help them concentrate when Seven is having a tantrum over her powers and _losing it_ , or when Six can't stop crying after his training sessions. Ruth was the only one who helped.

Dad strides into the entranceway from the library, without sparing any of them a second glance. "Children!"

Five glances at Four and Six, who are doing their best to compose themselves. He wants to reach out and offer the comfort he knows will help them but—

Six catches his eye and offers him a watery smile—grateful and kind. Five smiles back, and he knows Six is comforted anyway. They may not be able to physically hug right now but they'll always have the bond.

"I have something to tell all of you," Dad continues, gesturing at a lady standing next to him. "This invention will be taking care of Seven from now on. The rest of you have outgrown your need for human carers." 

Dad's choice of words seem strange to Five and he can feel his siblings are confused as well. It doesn't make sense. The lady steps forward and smiles at all of them, reaching out particularly towards Seven who feels _scared_ —power building and growing and they all scramble to try and calm her. He inspects Seven's new nanny— or the new invention Dad had called her—and dismisses her almost immediately. She is the same plastic nothingness as all other people who come in and out of the academy. No emotions just fake smiles and words.

Later Pogo will invite him to oversee Grace's maintenance and he'll learn what Dad meant by 'invention' and become even more confused. Is everyone but his siblings made of wires and metal, like her?

  
  


* * *

  
  


Five doesn't how long he spends at the ruins of the Academy, scratching through sharp bricks, desperate for a sign.

When he comes back to himself his fingers are bleeding, fingernails torn, and he's clutching a first edition copy of 'The Umbrella Academy Comic Volume Five' and a trademarked lunchbox. He rests his hand over the cartoon versions of his siblings, leaving bloody smudges over their animated faces, and trembles.

There are only five figures on the lunch box. There are only five characters in the comic book.

Dad was leaving for an important business trip tomorrow to discuss copyrighting their superhero group and they'd been so excited. Getting turned into comic book characters had to be more fun than sitting for that awful painting Dad had commissioned.

Shit. Five clutches at the comic book, trying to rub the blood off comic book Ben's face but his hands are bloody and he just makes it worse.

There are only five characters in the comic book.

He pulls again at his power, his fists lighting up blue uselessly.

"Come on!"

Nothing.

There's nothing.

Five doesn't remember a time before his siblings—though he knows there must have been a few months when he was alone in his mind—before he was adopted. A soulbond sparks when you meet your soulmate and although they were born at the same time they weren't born _together_. He likes to imagine that he was the first one adopted though, and that his bonds sparked in his soul one by one—just like an ordinary soulbond—as his siblings were introduced to his nursery. 

He doesn't know though—being apart from one another isn't something they ever really considered.

The ruins of the Academy are still smouldering, bright red bricks crumbling against each other and hiding the occasional umbrella insignia. Five digs for as long as he can in the place where he thinks their bedrooms might be, desperate for some kind of sign. It's impossible to tell if he's even digging in the right place though, and he doesn't want to lose what he has been able to find—the comic book figures that he still needs to sit for and the scorched lunch book.

They aren't here—obviously they aren't here—but Five needs some sign of where they might be and how to find them.

If his siblings were on a mission they might be in another country halfway around the world. When Five had left they hadn't been approved for international missions yet—Dad had been complaining about 'futile earth bureaucracy' for weeks—but Five doesn't know how far into the future he's travelled. Maybe if Five can find Dad's office, there'll be a clue there?

Dad was always writing notes about them—planning their missions and their training meticulously—and he must store those notebooks somewhere in his office and if Five can _find_ those notebooks then—

Then maybe he can find _them_.

He digs until his arms ache and there's nothing left to search and all he has to show for his work is a bloody comic book with his siblings smiling faces and a charred lunch box.

Five has spent too long here.

There's nothing left of the Academy.

There's nothing for him here. It's not home without his siblings and he—he needs to keep moving.

Five needs to keep moving.

There's something—something telling him. He can't stop.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They had training, of course, to help with their bond. Having an active soulbond means they can split their attention between multiple threads; what's happening in front of them, their own thoughts and reactions, and the emotions from their bonds. The human mind is always able to do that to a degree, training for the moment your bond sparks, but as Dad always said: "Without discipline and training comes mediocrity."

“Are we done?” Five had asked once when he was young, well before their missions started. The wires Father had stuck to his head were tacky against his skin and he wanted to go back to reading already.

Father puts down another card. “Pay attention, Number Five. This is important.”

Five focuses on the tendril that he knows as Four and tries to relay the card _Queen of Clubs_ to his sibling, thinking the words as hard as he can. In response he receives a feeling of confusion, frustration, _???_

"He doesn't get it," Five relays to his father for the nth time. 

"Hm." Father makes a mark in his notebook, the weight of his disappointment heavy in the air.

"It just—“ Five huffs. “It doesn't work that way!"

Dad doesn't dignify that with a response. "And the next card?"

He hasn't put down another card, of course. It's Four's turn in the other room, and Five can tell the moment Pogo turns around the card.

There's something different this time though. Four's frustration disintegrates into determination and cheekiness. Five tries to project his anger at his brother because _of course_ Four isn't taking this seriously, but before he can Five feels something strange. A strong sense of love and what he instantly recognised as the mental tag of one of their brothers; kindness fear clever.

It makes sense but it's also wrong. Five scowls. "S'cheating."

"The card, Number Five."

"He's not even trying to use words!"

"Number Five!"

He clenches his fists. "Six of hearts. This is stupid."

Dad checks his notebook and raises an eyebrow, making a sound of surprise. He writes something down, before he turns his attention to Five. “Explain yourself Number Five. Why is Number Four cheating?”

Five kicks his feet against the chair in frustration. “You said we should talk to each other through our—” and he gestures to the back of his head, to the six souls in his mind.

"And it seems to me Number Four was successful, and you were not," Dad says, mouth turning down.

"We already know what we're feeling. We share emotions all the time! You said we had to talk to each other and Four didn't _talk_." Five scowls at his feet.

"You understood him though," Dad points out. "He adapted."

"He _cheated_ ," Five insists, but shrinks back into his chair as Dad snaps his notebook shut with a glare.

"I expected better of you Number Five. Communication is about _understanding_ —not the words that you use."

Five can feel Four laughing in the other room and it isn't _fair_ that he's getting a lecture from Dad when Four is the one messing around and not following instructions!

Dad continues, stern frown on his face. Five tries not to show that he's sulking. "Every human has the capacity to feel emotions from their soulbond but you and your siblings _must_ strive for more."

You must be extraordinary.

You are meant to save the world. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next time Five comes back to himself he's stumbling next to the shell of a department store and pulling a bright red wagon behind him. For a second he thinks he's going to throw up—he's lost them—he lost his siblings again—they're _gone_ —but he focuses and sees the lunchbox sitting in the wagon, next to the comic book.

If he squints, it almost looks like the cartoon versions of his siblings are hovering in the wagon. Like they're not gone at all.

Five breathes out and looks up at the entrance. There is no electricity so the automatic doors are useless but luckily the front of the store is floor to ceiling windows, which have shattered on the ground and left an unstable husk with smouldering displays. The inside of the store seems to still be standing though, and the items seem to have been protected from the worst of whatever blast caused this destruction.

Supplies could be useful. He carefully picks his way through the broken glass, pulling the red wagon carefully behind him, until he's inside the department store and—

He stops.

There's someone here. It's not his siblings because he can't _feel_ them but there's a silhouette in the shape of another human—plastic and painted on emotions just like the strangers they rescued on missions and like Dad and like Mom but it's still _someone_ it's still the first sign of life since he landed in this hellhole and —

"Hello?" Five asks, voice trembling a little bit. He's not used to needing to speak out loud to people. "Are you alright?"

There's no response, just like every other time he's tried to communicate since coming here.The silence feels loud and oppressive after hearing his own voice though. Maybe he wasn't loud enough? Maybe he needs to get closer?

Five walks forward, the wagon's wheels creaking as they catch on debris.

The Umbrella Academy is famous so they might know how he can help his siblings. For the first time since landing in this hellhole— lost alone bondless—he feels half human. He feels a glimmer of hope.

Her bottom half is strange, almost square, and it takes Five a second to realise.

It's a woman's face staring up at him — smooth white plastic, with kind eyes and a beautiful painted on smile. A poor replacement for her siblings and not—not quite like other humans either but he can't seem to turn away from her.

She's alone.

The ceiling has partly caved in and crushed the other mannequins that must have been sharing her display with her.

"I'm sorry about your friends," Five whispers, helping her down from her unsteady perch. He settles her in the wagon, next to his siblings. He'll need to collect some clothes for both of them, now. 

"I'll help you."

  
  


* * *

  
  


After their first mission, Five teleported into each of his siblings bedroom. 

First he goes to Six's room, because Six sleeps in the bedroom opposite his. No, wait. His name is Ben now because they're choosing _names_. He goes to Ben's room first because Ben is closest to him because the two of them have their own floor and some semblance of peace and quiet from the chaos just down the stairs. 

Next he goes to Seven, who is still working through a list of names with Mom and hasn't chosen one yet. Their third name is important. It's the name that they'll be using in the real world for the rest of their _life_ unlike their numbers or the mental tags they have for each other through the bond. Seven (calm, worry, sweet) in her shoebox room with just a partition wall between her and Four, barely enough room for her bed and desk.

He grabs Four next because he's right next door—and he refuses to use the name Four has picked out because it's the third one he's picked _this week_ — and then Diego, Allison, Luther. 

He takes them to his bedroom, where Luther easily pulls up the window that had been locked shut and they sneak out and down the winding fire escape shushing each other and trying to avoid creaky steps. They cross the street until they come to the donut place they'd passed on the drive out to the mission, excitement and terror vibrating between them.

If the old lady behind the counter recognises them in their navy blazers and academy insignias she doesn't give anything away. They order their weight in sugar.

"You should have seen, Seven!"

"We were so cool!"

"Luther jumped down through the roof!"

"Three made them shoot each other!"

"Oh m-man when Five hit him in the head with the st-stapler!"

They dissolve into giggles together, glee singing between their bond. They sit, beaming at each other.

Then, there's a tiny ring of disquiet. Of jealousy.

Allison reaches out for Seven's tiny hands. "We couldn't have done it without you, too, though!"

Seven seems to shrink back behind her long brown hair. "But… I'm not allowed to help."

Five shakes his head, "No, you're looking out for us with Dad!"

Ben smiles, skin still pink after hours in the bath to wash the blood off. "You're our man on the outside. You can tell us if reinforcements are coming!"

"Yeah, we all know Four doesn't have the attention span!" One — Luther chimes in, getting a muffled but indignant "Hey!" in response around the donut Four is currently shoving into his mouth.

"Oh," Seven says, voice barely an exhale. The barest hint of a smile crosses her face. "Like this?" 

And suddenly they all start upright in their seats—Four dropping what remains of his second donut with a "Christ on a—!" as alarm _!!!_ rings out between them and then everything dissolves into giggling again.

Five beams at his sister. "Perfect."

On the way home they somehow manage to hug and walk at the same time, all piling together as they stumble down the sidewalks. Five is somehow in the middle of it all, tripping over Four's lanky legs and his head pressed against Allison's shoulder. 

"This is what we're for," Allison says. "Our bond, our powers. We were incredible."

"Incredible!" Four exclaims, screaming her words down the empty street. His hands are tangled with Six, until Diego pulls his arm off from around his shoulder to push him down with a _shh!_ (alarm, worry, but also excitement)

It's futile. Four runs a few steps ahead—out of Diego's reach—twirling in front of them and still pulling their group hug along behind him from where his hand is entwined with Ben's. "We're incredible!" He screams again. 

Five can feel his siblings in his heart, happy and content and _perfect_. He agrees.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The wagon is useful. He fills it up with a few days of supplies—his power should recharge by then—and moves on. He has to keep moving.

He has to keep moving.

Five tries to keep his Umbrella Academy blazer in front of his mouth, to not breathe in too much dust, but his eyes sting and throat is sore the further he moves in. The cloud of dust sits heavy in the air and doesn't dissipate throughout the day. There's destruction everywhere he can see but — no bodies.

He doesn't know where he's moving _to_ until the landscape changes slightly. Buildings flattened, not crumbling, and —

The smell hits him first—rotting meat and foul sewage— and Five has to lean against what looks like part of a McDonalds sign to retch. Nothing comes up but bile but the smell continues to make him gag until he ties his necktie up around his face like a mask, holding his blazer tight to his face. He looks back at his siblings, their cartoon faces staring back at him from the lunchbox.

Five—Five needs to move forward but he doesn't want them to see whatever this is.

Delores will keep an eye on them.

It's difficult but he stumbles away from them, carefully picking his way across pieces of cement, parts of buildings, broken off signs, sharp pieces of railing, until everything clears — flattened and burnt out ground like ash dipping down into a crater and — and

In the middle of the epicentre there are five adult bodies, laid out in an incomplete circle, all reaching for each other.

"Oh," Five breathes out, one hand pressing his blazer tighter against his face. Five hadn't been thinking this far ahead—his mind bleeding the world empty and foreign—all he'd been thinking about was putting one foot in front of the other—but of course something _caused_ this wasteland, and whatever happened, it happened here. 

This is why he was moving.

If he can find out what caused this—this—apocalypse, then when he goes back home he cause make sure it doesn't happen. He can make sure his bonds don't break.

He can protect his siblings.

Five stumbles forward down the barren, ash covered ground — leaving the broken city behind him.

He's seen bodies before, of course, but never at this stage of decomposition. Their missions haven't been without causalities, but usually they don't look much like 'bodies' after Ben's released the Horror and the rest are usually cleared up by ambulance crew well before rigor mortis sets in.

These bodies are different. They're cold, pale—blood drained to lower parts of the body—and starting to bloat unpleasantly. But maybe there are some clues about what —

Five stops still.

He's standing at the incomplete part of the circle — the strange gap where another body might fit—one white bloated hand reaching into the space as if trying to grasp at something or _someone_ — palm facing up to the sky—

HELLO, tattooed in the same font as the ornate ouija board Dad gave Four for his training—

And down just a little lower, a familiar umbrella insignia on the wrist.

"No," Five whispers, running forward to the middle and looking around and it's — it's them and —

This was why he had to keep moving.

They can always find each other.

Five's breath comes faster and he collapses to the ground _screaming_ and reaching for his power desperately until blue light is encircling him because there's _nothing_ he's surrounded by his siblings and there's nothing there's nothing —

Nothing.

Nothing happens. The power dissipates and he collapses into sobs against the ash. _I'm right here,_ he says to the bleeding tethers in his mind. _I'm sorry._

He was thinking of his siblings from yesterday. Thirteen years old and getting ready for their next mission in their academy blazers. 

Five—he wasn't thinking of this.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The door slams as Dad calls out — "Number Five!" — but six children continue to eat, knives scraping against their dinner plates.

 _He shouldn't have lost his temper,_ Luther thinks through the bond. Klaus rolls his eyes at him, sending irritation and amusement to them all.

_Goody-two shoes._

They know that's what he's saying.

It's their own language of emotions. A language they've been using to communicate since they were babies; before they could speak. A language they've honed through hard work and training. That they can only use with each other.

 _No talking,_ Vanya points out softly. _Trouble._ She's always been harder to understand. The emotions she sends them are cautious and jumbled, but they figure out what she's trying to get across. 

_Dad can't tell that we're talking,_ Allison says, as she takes a bite of her dinner. The word for "Dad" is particularly unpleasant—an imposing presence, unfathomable fear, conviction—and at least three of them tense at the table.

 _But_ — Ben says and shares his worry with them. Five and his temper and he can be rash and in his desperation to prove himself to (imposing presence, unfathomable fear, conviction).

Ben is right. The quicker they eat their meal, the quicker they have their allocated free time and then they can sneak into Five's room and use the fire escape and find him and talk him into coming home. 

They can always find each other.

Across the table they all make eye contact, conviction and agreement running through them.

They have a plan.

"Children!" Their father's stern voice cuts through their bond and fear spreads between them as they realise they've given themselves away.

But before they can react something worse happens.

Cutlery clatters to the floor from numb fingers as they turn inwards and reach.

_Loss._

_Empty._

The place in their minds where their brother used to live—curled up and entwined with all their bonds— _bleeds._

_Pain._

_Terror._

They stare at each other in horror as it resonates between them.

Building. Growing. Gaining power.

_Loss._

_Pain._

_Terror._

Six children pass out.

  
  


* * *

  
  


In the apocalypse, Five loses time. 

He fills his red wagon up with dirt and takes it back and forth from the small crater where his siblings rest until they're covered with dirt (they won't be able to breathe but Five has to remind himself that—that's okay they _can't_ breathe anymore just like they can't feel him anymore). He doesn't know how long it takes. 

He tries not to think about the incomplete circle—the blank space where another body would fit. Even in death, your soulmates never really leave you. Klaus - Klaus had said half the ghosts he met were linked to their soulmates, unable to move on. It doesn't seem right that they're not all together.

Five sits against the mound of dirt and waits, breathing in ash and debris that still falls from the sky. He wonders if they're with him now, even though he left them (he _left them_ ). 

There's nothing left to do but wait. 

He loses time. 

_He left them._

Five clutches the comic book and thinks, distantly, he should get up and find some food. He doesn't know when he got here, how long it's been since he left his siblings sitting around the table eating dinner (years it's been _years_ ). Five can't find the energy to move—to care. Instead, he tries again to draw his power around him. 

And just like every other attempt, his time-travel remains out of reach. 

_He left them._

The world is empty. 

He can't leave them again. 

Five leans back against the mound of dirt—right where the empty spot was—and waits.

Eventually, there is a strange sound. A sound that is completely out of place in an apocalyptic wasteland. It sounds almost like light footsteps slipping down a slight slope, and then running towards him.

Five closes his eyes and clutches the cartoon versions of his siblings tighter to his chest. Maybe they—they didn't leave him. But at the same time he doesn't want to see their adult bodies again—half decomposed strangers. He wants to _go back_. His power swirls around him again—and flickers into nothing, just like every other attempt. 

There's a gust of air in front of him and the footsteps stop—suddenly right next to him. Did he lose time again?

Five braces himself and slowly opens his eyes. 

The first thing he sees is red - red - red on the ground. 

Five blinks and the world comes into focus.

Bright red converse shoes on the ground, right by his dirt-covered academy issued shoes.

There's a girl standing in the shoes—about his age— with straight dark hair styled in a bob. The corners of her mouth are curled up into an arrogant smirk, like she's judging him and her eyes are brown and—

Five gasps—comic book dropping from slack fingers—as the world bursts into emotion around the bleeding holes in his mind, suddenly alive again.

For the first time since landing in this hellhole, the world feels _real_.

The girl's smirk dissolves into an awestruck gape.

"Hi," she says after a few seconds. "My mum sent me to come help you."

The words barely register. Five grasps onto this new tendril in his mind desperately like it's a life raft. The girl had been judging him but now she's just _surprised_ and a little scared— but the fear is pushed down deep where she can't acknowledge it. 

"Oh," Five says, still clutching at her emotions and sending _gratefulness_ through to her as hard as he can and feels her startle at the intensity of what he's sending her. He'll have to try to remember his lessons and teach her how to communicate through their bond properly. For now he's just so thankful that the world isn't empty— that he's not _alone_ — that he can't feel anything else.

"I'm Lila," she says, offering him a hand up.

"Five." 

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> !!!!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think <3
> 
> Fair warning, I've just adopted a puppy so my upload schedule is non-existent right now haha. Not sure when I'll get to the next one in this series but it's planned out, and we'll be coming back to the rest of the Hargreeves kids! In the meantime, here's a little sneak preview of the next instalment:
>
>> There’s an old saying that once your soulbond has sparked, not even death can part you. 
>> 
>> Klaus is here to tell you: it’s complete bullshit.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr [@caedi](http://caedi.tumblr.com)!


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